Within the dense forest.
A short, fat soldier with disheveled hair crouched beside a half-rotting giant log, panting heavily.
"Pant... pant... wheeze..."
At this moment, the soldier's heart was filled with agitation and excitement.
He was a deserter.
Not long ago, he had been a simple stableman. But after falling into debt and bankruptcy, his creditors had handed him over to the Holy Church Legion, where he "gloriously" became a soldier of the Holy Sword Sun, sworn to fight bravely.
After several months of grueling training, he donned Witchcraft armor and was sent to the vast Sea of Blood.
For a short, fat soldier positioned on the fringes of the great battlefield, the fighting hadn't been that intense after he survived the initial bloody engagement. This meant he could carefully slack off until the end of the war and return to his normal life.
But during a previous battle, beside the corpse of a bear monster that had been torn in half, he discovered a piece of gold.
A piece the size of a palm, enough to buy at least a hundred horses.
Damnably, another soldier had also spotted it.
With blood rushing to his head and disregard for everything else, the short soldier ambushed his comrade and snatched the gold. Afterward, as his intense killing intent faded and he realized what he had done, he fled into the forest in a panic.
Killing a comrade on the battlefield was a capital offense.
"Damn it!"
The soldier cursed, "I can't die here!"
With that, he took out the gold, staring at it with a silly grin: "Hehehe, a beautiful future is waving at me..."
BOOM!
Suddenly, an axe spun through the air and slammed into the back of his head.
CRACK!
With a sharp snap, the soldier, his head split like a crushed watermelon, slumped lifelessly to the ground. The gold slipped from his hand as his life ended.
After the sound of rustling grass nearby, the masked Mox stepped forward.
He walked to the gold, bent down to pick it up, and cast an incredibly cold glance at the headless corpse. Then, he slightly opened his palm and "manifested" a chainsaw out of thin air.
In fact, the Power of Wrath Seraphine had bestowed upon Mox was sufficient to simulate and materialize anything from his memory.
Not just chainsaws, but shotguns, grenades, and even nuclear bombs could be easily "turned from void into reality," manifested from emotions into matter.
With a loud mechanical snap, followed by the terrifying BUZZ of the chainsaw, Mox slowly walked deeper into the forest.
In another part of the forest.
CRACK!
CRACK!
Dry branches and withered leaves were crushed underfoot.
A tall, burly, bald, and tattooed sanctuary soldier moved cautiously through the forest.
Wiping his bald head, he glanced at the lush trees around him and muttered with a sneer, "Truly foolish. What's the point of fighting a bunch of corpses and ghosts? Fighting for the Light? Hmph~"
Clearly, this strong soldier was also a deserter.
But unlike the short stableman, he wasn't in debt or bankrupt. He was a criminal guilty of kidnapping, home invasion, and murder. Among the soldiers in this war, those "redeeming themselves through service" like him were not few.
However, those brave enough to desert were rare. Most didn't dare, and the few who did rarely found the opportunity.
Having always been bold, he hadn't looked back once he found his chance to dive into the forest. As for the potential dangers within, he, believing his Knight's Breathing technique was sufficient, didn't give them a second thought.
After walking for a while, the burly soldier suddenly saw a bright, golden reflection beneath a large tree ahead.
He frowned, "What's that?"
Increasing his pace, his heavy body thudded across the distance toward the tree.
Within a pile of dry leaves, a piece of bright yellow gold entered his sight.
"Gold!"
The greedy man’s face lit up with joy. He snatched the gold and tucked it into his belt, preparing to leave.
WHOOSH!
A dark shadow suddenly dropped from the tree canopy, streaking past the man's side.
SQUELCH!
"Argh!"
Blood sprayed. The man cried out in pain and stumbled, falling to the ground.
The gold was thrown several meters away.
He hissed in agony. Looking down, he saw that a large chunk of flesh had been carved from his left chest. At the deepest part of the wound, white ribs were faintly visible.
"I knew you wouldn't be able to move once you saw gold."
A hoarse, piercing voice rang out.
A tall, thin dark figure slowly stepped out from the shadows. The burly soldier glared and saw a man who was also bald and tattooed, but with deeply painted eyeliner. The man tilted his head and clicked his tongue in regret. "Your build is too large. That strike should have gouged out your heart. Still, it was worth the effort of following you this far."
"You gutless, half-man parasite!" the burly man cursed.
The other man was also a criminal within the legion. They had never been on good terms; he hadn't expected him to be a deserter too.
"Die!"
Filled with resentment, the burly soldier lunged forward, swinging a heavy fist at the other man's head. The thin man cackled, evading the attack with a lithe backbend, while simultaneously raising a long leg to slash his toe across the burly man's stomach.
SQUELCH!
Blood sprayed. There was a dagger strapped to the thin man's ankle.
"Argh!"
Clutching his bleeding stomach, the burly man retreated several steps until he was leaning against a tree, drenched in blood. He growled, "You really want to go this far?!"
The thin man scratched his head with the back of his dagger and laughed darkly:
"The moment you called me half-man in front of everyone, this result was certain. By the way, do you know what my nickname used to be?"
"Pant... pant... pant..."
Ford stared coldly at the eccentric man slowly approaching with a sway of his hips, remaining silent.
"The Black-Hearted Flayer."
A manic smile stretched across the thin man's face. "I'm going to skin you alive and turn your hide into boots, hihihi-hahahaha!"
CRACK!
A sickening sound echoed from above.
The man’s grin froze as he jerked his head upward.
HISS!
A bloody snake head, jaws unhinged, dropped from the canopy and sank its fangs directly into his eye socket.
"AAAAHHH!!!"
The man shrieked, dropping his dagger to claw at the serpent with both hands. He ripped the head away, but his eyeball came with it.
"AAAAHHH IT BURTS AAAAAHHH!"
The agony sent him thrashing on the forest floor, completely oblivious to the burly man stumbling away into the brush.
At that moment, Mox stepped from the shadows, his Chainsaw idling. He walked over to the screaming wretch and drove the spinning teeth into his chest.
"No, no! Please! AAAAAHHH!" The man stared through his one remaining eye, helpless.
VRRR-VRRR-VRRR!
After the spray of shredded flesh and bone, the trembling man went silent.
Meanwhile, the burly man ran for several minutes until he found a massive, fallen hollow tree. He scrambled into the dark opening and desperately piled dry leaves over the entrance to vanish.
"...Finally, I'm safe."
He closed his eyes, exhaling. His spirit had been crushed by that freak; he had no courage left to face him.
Suddenly, the entire log jolted.
"Hmm?" He snapped his eyes open. "What's happening?"
VRRR-VRRR-VRRR!
The muffled growl of a Chainsaw drifted through the wood.
"What is that sound?"
As he trembled in confusion, the noise grew deafening.
The next second.
VRRR-VRRR-VRRR—SQUELCH!!
A jagged blade sliced through the hollow trunk. Before the man could move, the steel carved through the rot and slammed into his knee. In an instant, gore and bone fragments sprayed the interior.
"AAAAHHH..."
Terrified, agonized screams erupted from inside the log. Outside, Mox, devoid of any emotion, swung the saw toward another section of the wood.
VRRR-VRRR-VRRR!
Under the relentless teeth, the log shook and "wailed" like a living creature. From the jagged rifts, murky blood and minced meat sprayed out. Within thirty seconds, the burly man died in a dark hole of despair deep within the forest.
...
In this one-sided war started by the Glorious Kingdom, it wasn't just Walton's Holy Church Fortress that joined the fray. Along the jagged border of Light and Dark, a massive war bastion carrying a million soldiers charged into the Sea of Blood every few thousand miles. Dozens of these mobile Witchcraft fortresses were deployed.
Tens of millions of soldiers in Witchcraft armor, thousands of mercenaries with unique skills, and high-level Witches far more destructive than either, burned like sparks across the islands. Under the cover of night, the infinite sea was a landscape of fire.
In the hottest combat zones, a thick rain of Witchcraft arrows—imbued with frost, lightning, and flames—clashed with bone spikes trailing ghostly light and miasma. Under this terrifying exchange of fire, almost no living thing could survive for a second. Even the massive cliffs nearby shook as they were hit by bursts of light the size of watermelons.
Where the light faded, craters meters wide were left behind: some frozen solid, some crackling with electricity, others dissolved or charred and steaming. A soldier hit by such an attack would not leave a corpse. To be grazed was to be mangled; to be struck was to be erased.
Except for brutal street fighting in narrow ruins, there was rarely any close-quarters combat. Most units frantically "threw" Witchcraft arrows from distances of thousands of meters. There was no need to aim; nearly all arrows had Enemy-Seeking capabilities—just fire toward the enemy, and the magic would find them and blow them to pieces.
Because of this, the battlefield turned into a struggle for Witchcraft positions, where groups of soldiers entrenched themselves for a war of attrition.
At midnight, from the woods near a small bastion of the Holy Church Legion, a tall, masked man silently appeared.
It was the Messenger of Wrath—Mox.
WHOOSH!
A crimson fire of hatred ignited across his broad shoulders. With a sharp crackle, the flames swallowed him from head to toe. Then, Mox, without a word, gripped his blade and axe and charged the enemy lines.
His boots dug into the dirt, crossing a hundred meters in a heartbeat.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
In less than a second, Mox left deep, cracked craters in the earth. He closed in on the Witchcraft formation. On the bastion walls, sentries spotted him. Without panic, they raised their bows and fired.
WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH!
Dozens of arrows rained down on him. At that exact moment, Mox slammed his foot into the ground.
BOOM!!!
The earth buckled as Mox’s massive body, wrapped in a violent gale, leaped hundreds of meters into the sky. A second later, he adjusted his weight in mid-air and, trailing crimson fire like a hawk possessed by a God of War, treaded the air and dove.
WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH!
His speed accelerated, and the bastion interior came into view. Below him, a sanctuary soldier stood with his mouth wide open, staring up in a daze.
SWOOSH!!!!
A shadow flashed through the air.
BANG!!!!
Mox hit the ground, his feet smashing directly into a soldier's face.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Amidst the sickening sound of shattering bone, the soldier was instantly crushed into a steaming pile of gore. But as Mox slowly stood up, a squad of Sanctuary soldiers immediately swarmed him. Arrows, bullets, lightning, and blade-glow—a dense barrage of attacks submerged him instantly.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
An explosion of flickering lights followed.
Seeing the mysterious intruder buried under his men's coordinated strike, the Commander standing at the edge of the line let out a sigh of relief. He patted his Adjutant and asked, "Who was that, being so arrogant? Even trying an aerial drop."
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The Adjutant shrugged. "He just fell from the sky. How could we know who he is?"
At that moment, a wave of fiery rage erupted from the center of the crowd, expanding instantly to engulf the entire Bastion. Within these scorching flames, hundreds of sharp blade-qi streaks slashed back and forth.
In a single second, the dozens of soldiers involved in the attack, along with the chatting Commander and his Adjutant, were transformed into charred fragments before they could even scream.
The Bastion, now more than half-melted from the fire, was left with only Mox standing silently in the center, surrounded by unburned skeletons and blackened corpses. After slaughtering everyone, Mox turned and departed in silence, striding toward the distance with murderous intent.
The destruction of this position was merely the beginning.
In the ensuing period, Mox, with his greatly amplified mobility, rampaged across the battlefield, relentlessly sprinting toward the distant Corpse Amusement Park. Any creature daring to obstruct his path, be it human, corpse monster, or specter, met an instant, unburied end.
Those weaker than Mox were cruelly dismembered and burned to ashes. Those stronger were gradually worn down by his conceptual undying body. For example, when swallowed by a colossal dragon, Mox would unhesitatingly self-detonate inside the beast. In an explosion rivaling a nuclear blast, he would reduce both himself and his foe to dust.
As for genuinely overwhelming adversaries, Mox would not engage. He would simply retreat. If hindered, he would self-detonate, then regenerate nearby, resurrected anew.
After some time, outside a tragically devastated central Holy Church bastion.
"AAAAH!"
"Run!"
"Monster! He's a monster!"
"He can't be killed! Run!"
In the dark of night, hundreds of Holy Church soldiers were being forced back by Mox alone. With a casual swing, a dozens-meter-high crimson flame-blade, spanning sky and earth, appeared, instantly plowing the hard ground for a thousand meters, sending dozens of screaming, cursing armored soldiers flying.
Mox ignored all retaliatory attacks, allowing arrows, blade-light, and Witchcraft to strike his body. His skin tore, flesh peeled, tendons snapped, and bones broke. Every second, vast amounts of steaming, black blood erupted from his body, only for these horrifying wounds to heal in an instant. Every second, agonizing pain tormented Mox's soul, but the next second, this pain—enough to make ordinary people weep—transformed into burning rage, making him stronger, endlessly stronger.
WHOOSH!!!!
A savage chop of his mountain-cleaving saber unleashed another massive, scorching flame-blade, slicing through dozens more Sanctuary soldiers. In just two strikes, over a hundred people died by Mox’s hand.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
A continuous barrage of a dozen saber-strikes launched, each a chilling blade-wave cutting straight toward the center.
BOOM!!!!
A hundreds-meter-tall hill exploded and collapsed, burying hundreds of soldiers in its vicinity.
A few flying Witchcraft-wielding Sanctuary soldiers swiftly leaped into the air, attempting to escape. Upon seeing this, Mox’s back suddenly bulged. Two crackling, crimson-flame-engulfed masses of sinews and flesh burst forth from his shoulders, tearing through his skin, unfurling into a pair of massive, fiery wings.
WHOOSH!!!!
With a single beat of his great wings, Mox soared into the sky, relentlessly pursuing the terrified soldiers who nearly fell.
Ignoring attacks, moving like the wind, and growing stronger with every wound. Facing this unstoppable monster, after hundreds of their comrades fell, the remaining hundred or so Sanctuary soldiers completely collapsed, screaming and scattering in every direction. No one wished to die in vain, not even soldiers on the battlefield. Especially against an undying monster like Mox, no one was willing to die for nothing at his hands.
However, there were always some who were supremely confident in their own strength.
For example, the Commander of the Holy Church Fortress, Walton.
...
Blood mist cloaked the sky, black clouds shrouded the earth.
In the desolate wilderness, Mox was striding rapidly.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded from behind him. Hearing them, Mox instantly stopped.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
In the heavy, gloomy night hundreds of meters behind him, several figures walked unhurriedly across the grass. They were several Witches in heavy, rune-covered armor.
"Heh, you big blockhead."
The dry, thin middle-aged Witch leading the group tilted his head, sizing up Mox, who stood motionless with his back to him. He spoke with a light chuckle, "You're the 'undying one' who carved through fifteen strongholds in an hour, aren't you? Our Legion Commander is very keen to know..."
His lips stretched into a grin, and he squinted at Mox as he slowly turned around, saying coldly: "Your undying Witchcraft... where did you learn it?"
Mox tilted his head slightly, seemingly surprised by the arrogant tone.
"Cat got your tongue?" The dry, thin man clucked twice, then turned to the other Witches around him and laughed, "Never mind, we'll just soul-search him directly..."
BANG!!!!
Before he could finish, a crimson blade of hatred swept horizontally toward them.
"How dare you!"
The Witch's eyes flared with anger. He immediately raised his massive shield and unleashed Witchcraft, materializing a mountain's illusion to charge at the blade-qi.
Armor Witchcraft —— Ice Mountain.
But a second later, the blade of hatred effortlessly shattered his confident mountain-armor and cleaved him in two, shield and all. After his death, the blade-qi didn't dissipate; it spun eerily, continuing its strike toward the others, who were startled and fumbling from the sudden turn of events.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Following a series of flesh-rending explosions, the armored Witches immediately died, crumbling into charred, dusty bones.
Seeing everyone dead, Mox turned and walked away.
But at that moment,
WHOOSH!
A black-clad man suddenly materialized from the air. He drew his bow and fired an arrow shimmering with blue lightning. Carrying a powerful surge of wind and thunder, the bolt struck Mox directly in the lower back.
BOOM!
Arcing lightning descended from the sky.
In an instant, hundreds of dazzling, high-temperature plasma bolts roared out from Mox’s trembling body. The blast covered a hundred meters, reducing him and everything around him to charcoal.
At the same time, a young Witch in deep blue clothes appeared from nowhere. His figure flickered, manifesting three or four identical afterimages. He lightly treaded the air and rushed toward Mox, who was now charred and slumped on the ground.
In an instant, over a dozen fists and palms struck Mox's body.
Melee Witchcraft —— Poison Dragon's Devouring Bone.
Melee Witchcraft —— Separating Matter, Injuring Soul.
Melee Witchcraft —— Organs' Chain Collapse.
Melee Witchcraft —— Blood Marrow Riot.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!!
After a series of crackling sounds of flesh and bone shattering, Mox, who had been reduced to a cripple by the raging lightning, disintegrated into shredded flesh and black blood amidst continuous explosions.
But just as the blue-clad Witch thought Mox was dead and could finally relax, a blazing crimson energy field formed. Within a hundred-meter radius centered on the black blood, tens of thousands of violent blade-lights erupted.
This was a Domain of Blades, constructed purely from the hatred in blade-qi.
HISS HISS HISS HISS!!
Countless lightning-fast, burning crimson blade-lights crisscrossed horizontally and vertically. In a single second, they completely chopped and incinerated the blue-clad youth, his clones, and the archer Witch hiding to the side.
After everyone was dead, the puddle of black blood suddenly began to churn and bubble.
Then, two burly hands emerged from the gore.
Mox, as if climbing out of a pool of blood, regenerated completely and without blemish. After shaking the blood from his messy hair, he seemed to know exactly where these people came from and sprinted off in a chosen direction.
This was one of Mox's killing techniques: Void Tracking.
...
In the sky, the Holy Church Fortress.
CLANG!!
A booming sound echoed as a massive meteor, burning with crimson flames, descended from the sky. It slammed into the fortress's sturdy wall, which was covered in Witchcraft runes.
BANG!!
As if a real nuclear explosion had occurred, the air for several thousand meters was instantly blasted into a vacuum. The heavy wall, flickering with dazzling Witchcraft spiritual light, shattered instantly, creating a massive breach torn open by the immense kinetic energy.
Hundreds of sanctuary soldiers hiding behind the wall screamed as they were pulverized into dust, flying with countless rubble and ashes into the turbulent air outside the breach.
Next, while hundreds of other soldiers were still reeling from shock, they watched as a massive, crimson air vortex, a hundred meters in diameter, surged forth from the collapsed wall.
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ!!
As the crimson vortex rapidly approached, the soldiers at the very front could even feel the surrounding air and the ground beneath their feet trembling violently. They desperately wanted to flee, but it was already too late.
The next moment, the scorching vortex mercilessly ground over this formation of soldiers like a rolling mill.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
In an instant, the soldiers screamed as they were each blasted into fragments by the vortex, becoming puddles of blood mixed with minced flesh.
At this point, everyone in this corner of the Holy Church Fortress was dead, and silence utterly prevailed.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
With rhythmic footsteps, Mox, wearing his hockey mask and wielding two mountain-cleaving sabers, slowly emerged from the collapsed breach. He had, by some unknown means, traversed the distance between heaven and earth to reach the outskirts of the Holy Church Fortress in a short time. This was one of Mox’s killing techniques: instantaneous movement.
Once he confirmed and locked onto a target, no matter where they hid, he would find them. As for Mox's journey during this time, when unobserved, he would be in a "superposition state" of various possibilities. That is, instantaneous movement.
Do not ask if this is unscientific. It must be noted that Mox's undying body itself is unscientific.
Looking up at the massive city center, Mox saw a blonde man in a thick armored coat standing atop the highest building, glaring at him with murderous eyes. It was Walton (Clone).
Mox silently tilted his head, gazing at the magnificent building. Meeting Walton's savage gaze, he slowly pointed toward the sky.
The firmament boomed continuously.
An invisible, crimson meteor, the size of a parade ground, suddenly manifested in the boundless sky. Following his hand gesture, it plummeted, crashing into the side of the tall building where Walton stood. This, too, was condensed from Mox’s power of hatred in the sky.
"Arrogant! You dare to be reckless in my presence!"
Walton snorted coldly, extending his hand, five fingers spread, toward the rapidly descending meteor. He declared:
"Heaven has five directions, the face has five features, and the hand has five fingers. The Art of Five Coffins, descend!"
BUZZ!!
The void trembled.
A massive wooden coffin, a hundred meters long, suddenly appeared. Its lid swung open, plunging toward the rapidly approaching crimson meteor and engulfing it.
CLANG!!
A tremendous crash shattered the clouds for ten miles.
The enormous wooden coffin, seemingly crude and fragile, easily swallowed the meteor and closed. Then, the coffin vibrated and warped, transforming into a massive, rust-covered iron coffin that slammed downward, charging from low to high toward Mox, who was rapidly flying toward Walton.
Mox reacted swiftly. Seeing the aggressive iron coffin bearing down, he immediately swung his two mountain-cleaving sabers, unleashing more than a dozen crimson blade-lights that thundered forth to meet it.
CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG!!!
In an instant, the earth shook with continuous, echoing sounds.
The colossal iron coffin descending from the sky was fiercely cleaved apart by Mox from hundreds of meters away.
But just as the iron coffin shattered into countless fragments scattering across the sky, a glittering silver coffin suddenly appeared out of thin air before the rapidly charging Mox. Its lid swung open, and with a WHOOSH of air, it swallowed him whole.
CLANG!
Immediately after, an even larger, colossal Golden Coffin appeared, powerfully swallowing the Silver Coffin whole.
CLANG!
An instant later, a colossal Crystal Coffin, even larger in size, appeared and swallowed the Golden Coffin entirely.
Thus, the silver, golden, and crystal triple colossal coffins layer by layer sealed Mox.
"Hmph hmph."
Atop the tall tower, Walton chuckled coldly with satisfaction. "Once trapped within the triple coffins, whether it's Witchcraft or physical attack, nothing below the Morningstar level can break free. Just wait and see how I deal with you."
With that, his entire body's mana surged as he unleashed his Witchcraft:
"The Torture of Severed Tendons and Scraped Bones, descend upon the Silver Coffin.
The Torment of Boiling Sand Burial and Vermin Infestation, descend upon the Golden Coffin.
The Ordeal of Icy Frost Freezing the Soul, Lightning Sea Splitting the Spirit, and Ten Thousand Arrows Piercing the Heart, descend upon the Crystal Coffin.
Five Forms, Three Coffins, obliterate body and soul!"
In an instant, five terrifyingly vicious powers manifested within the triple coffins in the sky, completely engulfing Mox, who was struggling relentlessly.
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ
Red, blue, purple, yellow, and green: five splendid lights intensely flashed around the triple coffins. At first glance, it was beautiful.
"Hahahaha."
Walton slowly relaxed his arm behind his back, leisurely admiring the constantly vibrating, rainbow-colored colossal coffin in the sky. He sneered disdainfully:
"Undying? Hmph, after the Five Forms of Torment have cycled through, and his flesh and spirit are alternately tormented to their limits, I refuse to believe you won't die!"
To be honest, this vicious Witchcraft, discovered in ancient ruins, even he wasn't confident he could survive after one full cycle. Some strong-willed individuals might endure the Silver Coffin's torment. A very few tenacious ascetics, whose willpower was inhumanly strong, might even barely withstand the Golden Coffin.
But the most terrifying Crystal Coffin’s torment had nothing to do with willpower; it directly affected the mind, spirit, and soul with immense anguish, which no living being could endure.
Minutes later, the triple coffins were still vibrating, not still. This indicated that Mox was still alive.
"Strange." Walton frowned. "He can endure this much? Is this fellow still human? Never mind, if one round isn't enough, then we continue. One more round."
With that, he unleashed another round of the Five Forms of Torment, descending into the triple coffins.
Thus, Mox simultaneously experienced the effects of double the Torment. His body and soul, completely shattered by the vicious Witchcraft, healed themselves while simultaneously enduring double the pain.
This rapidly escalating pain also caused Mox's inner rage to surge wildly, incessantly.
Just as Walton unleashed the third round of the Five Forms of Torment upon him, the rage condensed within the triple coffins, now crystallized, finally broke through a certain threshold.
"Truly miraculous."
From atop the distant tall tower, Walton clucked and laughed, "Three rounds: even a 'god' probably couldn't endure this kind of pain, yet you..."
Before he could finish, he watched in astonishment as the triple coffins exploded with a resounding BOOM before his eyes.
In an instant, the world turned blindingly white.
It was as if a million lightning bolts danced wildly, or ten thousand suns collapsed. At this moment, the world seemed filled with a blinding light that scorched countless eyes, utterly expelling even the last trace of gloom.
Fire and light.
They became the sole protagonists within the Holy Church Fortress.
Terrifying heatwaves frantically escaped the explosion's center, pursued by even more horrifying, vicious shockwaves.
Vast fields and countless structures were thrown, torn, melted, and vaporized.
Walton, along with everything around him, including the massive ancient Holy Church Fortress, was instantly reduced to ash.
The resounding crash, the blazing light, and the swirling ash covered a colossal area hundreds of miles wide. At the same time, the ground below was blasted by this immense explosion, creating a molten crater ten kilometers in diameter.
WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH
At the explosion's periphery, even more ferocious gales swept up shattered debris and blasted it mercilessly into more distant regions.
A thousand miles away, another Walton (Clone) watched this entire scene, his face filled with rage.
"Damn it, he can still self-destruct and even blew up the entire fortress!"
After some time, dust and debris slowly settled, and everything ended.
Outside the crater, for more than ten miles, the rocky ground and forest vegetation had vanished, replaced by an expanse of uneven pits. Within a wider radius of hundreds of miles, it was a chaotic, broken wasteland.
At this moment, as Walton grieved the loss of one of his clones and worried about the fortress’s fall, burning crimson meteors suddenly appeared rapidly above his head and plummeted down.
"What?! He's still alive?!"
Walton looked up in astonishment, instantly recognizing this as the "undying one's" move.
WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH
"Damn it!"
He roared furiously, immediately unleashing layer upon layer of a dozen protective Witchcraft.
But against such a massive attack, these were far from enough.
One meteor fell, then ten, then a hundred.
BOOM BOOM RUMBLE RUMBLE!!
Amidst the deafening, continuous roars, Walton, who had hastily deployed multiple defensive Witchcraft but was still blasted by dozens upon hundreds of meteors, was finally left with only half a life. His armor tattered beyond recognition, he slumped to the ground.
THUMP ~ THUMP ~ THUMP ~
Still wearing his dark, filthy cowboy jacket and his blood-stained old mask, the "Butcher of Hundreds" — Mox · Wohsi — resurrected and reappeared. Wielding his brutal mountain-cleaving saber, he slowly walked up to Walton.
Walton, his face full of fury, gnashed his teeth and glared at Mox, his voice full of hatred: "Damn you, you stinking..."
WHOOSH
A saber slash, diagonally lopping off half his skull, revealing the slightly pulsating, blood-red brain tissue.
"Ugh... You..."
Walton's eyes widened as he stared blankly at Mox, seemingly unable to react.
By the time he wanted to say anything else, it was already too late.
Because Mox had mercilessly plunged his mountain-cleaving saber into the massive, bloody wound atop Walton's head.
One strike, from head to core.
In an instant, Walton lost another clone.
Just then, Seraphine, who was about to enter the Hell of Pain in the distance, indirectly sensed the chaotic, fragmented information that Walton's brain involuntarily broadcasted when it was torn apart.
Within this information, she saw many incredibly familiar words and phrases.
"Chip... reincarnation... express delivery... Steam... airplane... jock... precipitation... meet at the peak..."
Divine light suddenly burst forth in Seraphine’s eyes. "Interesting. This is a transmigrator."
